The Man on the Hill
by JadedWarrior
Summary: Sweeney Todd has spent 20 years trying to avenge a man he killed himself. When a hauntingly familiar girl visits Him atop his seaside hill, will he recover a part of what he has lost? A collection of post-movie oneshots. Sweeney lives, obviously.


There are days in which Sweeney Todd delights in forgetting.

He has spent too long aching to remember. He has tried with all of his might to hold on to the shattered, warped pieces of his past- to Johanna and Lucy, his wife's gentle laughter, the scent of her hair, the curve of her smile. The thought of losing any of it frightens-_ tortures-_ him, but even he cannot affect the damage time wreaks on his memories. Madness consumes him all the more as his unfeeling mind relentlessly devours the corners of his memories, warping and blurring them. His wife's hair was yellow, but her eyes? Were they blue or brown? And what of the sound of her laugh, the shape of her face? He tenses despite himself, unable to staunch a tide of black memory. There is one face he will never forget- His Honorable Bastard's. The knowing sneer, the lustful glint in Turpin's watery eyes- that face is_ burned_ into him.

The face of the enemy.

Yes, Sweeney Todd has spent fifteen years remembering relentlessly, refusing to allow himself the slightest lapse in mind lest he lose everything. For without his memories- without hatred and revenge, what does he have to live for? Revenge made Sweeney Todd and killed Benjamin Barker- without it, who is he?

It is a question he asks himself often, when he sits alone, away from the bustle of London, absently fingering the ragged scar across his throat. How he survived Toby's attack, even he has no idea...

It is on days like these, alone, sitting on a grassy knoll by the sea, that he allows himself- even if but for a moment!- to forget. He lets his maddened hornet's nest of thoughts and bramble of memories fade away, immerses himself in the gentle rasp of the distant surf until he can almost feel the cool water flow past his skin... how long had it been, since he'd enjoyed the simple pleasure of swimming? How long has it been since he'd allowed himself any type of pleasure at all?

He hates himself for wanting those things- for daring to relax himself, to forsake his mission and purpose.

But now he has no mission, nor purpose- he is a tired old man, and chokes down sour self-loathing as he lets the sea lull his twisted mind. For a long moment, he is a man like any other, unstained by the blood of the innocent, enjoying the simple pleasures of life.

He knows, of course, that it will not last. The sea piques an unpleasant memory- Nellie Lovett.  
_She loved the sea- told me herself, even. She wanted us to live here. _

He can't help a twinge of... _something,_ at that. Sweeney would've called it contempt, if he'd bothered thinking much about the poor woman at all. But... this man? Whoever he became when he let himself go, whoever sat upon this hill, might've pitied Nellie Lovett.

_She loved you, and you killed her. _

He expected... guilt? He shook himself, frowning. That was Benjamin Barker talking- and _he_ was certainly gone. He didn't know what sensation he'd expected to come over him as he thought of his old accomplice, but he didn't think he'd ever grow accustomed to the _hollowness _he felt now. He didn't feel anything for Mrs. Lovett's gruesome death, nor any of the other Less Honorable Throats he'd sliced during his bloodlust on Fleet Street.

The only deaths that still evoked emotion from the man on the hill were Judge Turpin's and Lucy's.

He shuddered, and something warm and wet stung his eyes.

_Lucy..._

He retreats from that thought, shoving it away with difficulty into a deep, dusty corner of his broken mind. Another delight in forgetting- he can shield himself with it.

_Out of sight, out of mind, eh?_

Coward.

He knows. Oh, he knows.

But he forgets anyway. He glances about at his surroundings, trying to distract himself, and a little white house at the base of the hill catches his eye. It's far enough away from the rolling smudge of the city, but he can already tell that the port isn't too great a distance. Who lives there, he wonders? A young man, run away from home with an illicit lover? An old man, who has lived his life in the stink pit of the world long enough and seeks solace alone with his family and the waves until his death?

He squints, and sees a smudge of a woman walking about the lawn, hanging laundry. Raucous laughter echoes up the hill, and children flit about the lawn...

A family lives there.

The emptiness he feels now isn't just confusing. It's painful. He fights the urge to turn and retch and instead curls himself into a ball, rocking back and forth.

_Forget... forget..._

But this time, he cannot.

"Are you all'righ?" a childish voice gently asks. He tenses, hand instinctively straying to a razor stowed in his pocket, but refuses to look up at her.  
"Go away, little girl." he snaps. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers?"

"Yes, but I didn't 'ave a mind ta listen." she replies simply, plunking herself down beside him. This is more than he can bear- he snaps his head up, ready to _truly_ frighten the little thing, when his eyes lock on hers.

For a long moment, he doesn't understand. It's impossible.

A little girl of perhaps six sits beside him, frock rumpled and yellow hair tumbling down her shoulders in waves. She's truly beautiful and pale- with wide, caring eyes not yet hardened by the cruelty of the world.

Essentially, she looks just like his daughter must have at her age.

"...Johanna?" he breathes, but the words have scarcely left his mouth when he rebukes himself. No, this wasn't Johanna- the eyes that stare at him are blue-green, not brown- and besides, his Johanna would be at least twenty by now.

_My Johanna. _

"My name is Lucy Hope." the girl says, by way of introduction. She waits for a moment, and he does not intend to give her an answer. He waits for her to move, to speak, but she does not, simply piercing him with Anthony's naaive, caring stare...

_Damn it all._

"I'm Sweeney Todd." he mutters, at length. He's surprised at how hollow and cold the words sound- Sweeney Todd was once a promise, a declaration of intent to carve his inheritance out of the world- to take back what Benjamin Barker deserved. But Sweeney Todd was also better than the foolish Benjamin Barker- he had once _relished _using his new name.

Now it stings him, coating his lungs with ice. The name is like a ghost of a painful, half-forgotten memory- a man who died a violent death.

But if he is not Sweeney Todd, then who? Who is left? 

"Whatcha up 'ere for, mistah Todd?" she asks, jarring him from his thoughts. He tries to look away- no, don't make eye contact, you fool!- but can't. The desire to touch her, to hold his Johanna in his arms again, is too strong. The thought that_ this_ Lucy, who is his and yet not his, this blood-of-his-blood, is sitting here, on this hill, with him, and not running away transfixes him. He can still remember the terror in his daughter's eyes when she beheld him, covered in blood with a razor in his hand. He can still remember slamming her against the wall, asking her if she wanted a shave...

_Forget my face._

This little girl would run too, he was sure, if she knew who he was. Sweeney Todd was a man to be feared.

_But am I that man, anymore? _

He blinks.

_She asked a question._

"What am I doing up here?" he echoes, letting his gaze slide over the sea. "I suppose I'm looking for someone."

The words slip out before he can stop them, and, inwardly, he curses, awaiting the inevitable.

She complies.

"Who?"

He had braced himself for the question, preparing some cutting remark, but her bright little voice disarms him, gives him pause for the first time. Who is he looking for, anyway? Every morning he spends on the hill in self-contemplation, wrapped in the mantle of forgetfulness and ocean air, seems to end the same way- with unanswered questions and answers without questions. He'd never thought about it this way, in such simple terms...

_Wisdom from the mouths of babies, hmm?_

"His name's Benjamin Barker." he says quietly, in almost a whisper. "He was a good friend of mine; a proper idiot, but a kind one, at heart."

She cocks her head.  
"Why are you lookin' for 'im? Has 'e lost somethin'?"

He chuckles.

_Oh, yes, little Lucy. Benjamin Barker has lost_ everything.

"He... I just need to talk to him." he amends quickly, remembering himself. The girl's six years old, it's none of her blasted business. And what brought her to this hill, anyway? Won't her father and mother be looking for her?  
An image of Johanna's worried face swims into his mind and he blinks back sudden tears. She would be furious if she found Lucy here...

"Oughtn't you to be at home?" he snaps. Lucy is unmoved.  
"Oughtn't _you?_"

He meets her challenging gaze for a moment longer before he continues.

"Fine. I'd like to talk to him because... I've wronged him. I owe him an apology."

_What? _  
He barely recognizes the words that flow from his mouth as his own- they're like puzzle pieces clacking suddenly into place, building up speed until he can barely keep pace with them...

Why Benjamin Barker? That man is gone- he died in Australia over twenty years ago.

Didn't he?

"What did'ja do to 'im, Mistah Todd- if'n I might ask." she asks quietly, barely stifling her curiosity. His lips twitch at the almost-familiar shine in her miscolored eyes- he remembers that insatiable appetite for knowledge from another Lucy...

So he obliges her, almost against his will.

"I hurt him, badly- I convinced him that he was someone he was not..." his brow furrows, a flash of memory crossing his mind. "...destroyed his character, I did. I doubt he'll ever forgive me."

"Was 'e like family to you?"

He tenses, frowning. Was Benjamin Barker like family to him? Benjamin Barker had _had_ a family. The most beautiful, perfect family a man could want...

_A foolish barber and his wife..._

He'd spilt blood, slit throats, and slaughtered his own sanity to get that family back. Barker's family.

He'd killed Barker so he could kill Turpin. He could never be that man again.

_But Barker's family still lives. His _perfect life_ still lives, and it's sitting right next to you, man. _

"Benjamin Barker was a very close friend of mine." he repeats. "His family was... was like my family. It was more than I deserved."

She smiles, and his heart_ aches. _

"Then he'll forgive ye." she says brightly.

"Family always forgives each other."

That does it. His flimsy barriers shatter and crash, and a torrent of memory envelops him. 

_There was a barber and his wife..._

Benjamin Barker, holding his wife and laughing, spinning their tiny girl around in circles...

_A foolish barber and his wife..._

Benjamin Barker, bound and gagged aboard a rolling ship, Lucy's face burned into his vision, refusing to let go of that last image of her smiling face...

_And she was beautiful..._

Benjamin Barker, watching Anthony Hope embrace a shaken Johanna, though a bloodied Sweeney Todd dares not draw near...

_Forget my face. _

_Who's _face?

The truth hits him like a lightning bolt- Benjamin Barker was dead, killed by Sweeney Todd, but as long as his _family_ exists, as long as there is some tiny scrap of_ that _memory left in the man on the hill, a piece of Benjamin Barker still lives._ That _was what Sweeney Todd was truly trying to destroy- the pain of a life he will never live again.

Someone calls out from the base of the hill, and Lucy stands.

"Well, good day to ye, Mistah Todd."

She takes off down the hill, and calls over her shoulder, "I 'ope ye find Benjamin Barker!"  
He smiles.

"I already have."

~End~

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I really hate the ending of Sweeney Todd- seriously, there's no real change in him! He never really learns the error of his ways- everybody just_ dies._ -_-;

I'll likely write more chapters after this- the next involving a conversation between the man on the hill and Johanna.


End file.
